


Sherlolly Prompts

by Iolre



Series: The Minor Key Prompts [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon, Christmas, Couvade's Syndrome, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, Vulnerable Sherlock, pregnancy fic, prompt fills, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-14
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2017-12-29 08:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1003396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolre/pseuds/Iolre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various Sherlolly drabbles I've written and posted to my prompts tumblr. Various situations, from fluff to smut to anything I'm prompted with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Scholar's Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all.
> 
> This is going to be a compilation of the Sherlolly prompts given to me at my [prompts tumblr](http://minorsherlockprompts.tumblr.com) where I take prompts for minor pairings. Feel free to shoot me one if you want to see more Sherlolly (or any other 'rare' pairing)!

There were no words, for none were needed. Sherlock pushed open the door of his office and stepped out, catching sight of Molly sitting on the couch, her legs crossed and a file resting on her lap. She read in the faint glow of the fire, basking in the warmth it emitted. It was not unusual for her to light a small fire in the fireplace, to keep her company for the long hours he spent among his books. A faint smile curved the corner of his lips. As domestic as the scene in front of him appeared, the file she was reading was an autopsy report for one of her patients. Natural death, although it was a possible homicide; she was reassuring herself of her conclusion.

She caught sight of him and smiled, a hand automatically patting her thigh as she uncrossed her legs. Without a word Sherlock slipped off his suit jacket and approached the lengthy sofa, clad only in his fitted, button-up shirt and his pressed slacks. He sank down onto the couch with a sigh of relief as the cushions distributed his weight evenly, allowing the tension to fade from his stiff muscles. His head found her lap, and she shifted so that she could hold the file she was reading, slipping her other hand absently into his curls and gently stroking his scalp.

It was only recently that they had celebrated their anniversary, celebrated four years together. It had seemed that they had been together much longer, so attuned to each other as they were. Sherlock shivered as Molly's nails scraped his scalp gently, the motion oddly relaxing as it set alight the nerves of his skin. Spending hours hunched over books intently was the life of a professor gearing for tenure, and Sherlock had long accepted that. What made it tolerable, what made it worth it were the nights like this, every night that Molly was home, where he could lay next to her, head on her lap, and bask in the soft smile she wore when he was around. Nothing warmed his heart and soothed the drag of the long, isolated hours like spending time with her.

Occasionally she would giggle, a soft, girlish sound that made Sherlock's lips curl into a gentle smile. Even after four years together she would blush and stammer when he talked to her, when he smiled, and she would giggle and press a kiss to his cheek and fall quiet, wrapping her arms around his waist and just basking in his presence. She was what could calm his mind, she was what he needed. She was the balm to soothe a mind that was frazzled and disorganized from many hours of sorting information and data. With her around, with her comforting presence, Sherlock could sort the information he was required to retain and sort it into the appropriate sections of his mind palace.

Her hand slowly stopped moving, and simply rested in his curls, thumb moving absently in a gentle caress. Sometimes Sherlock would fall asleep like that, and would wake up to see Molly asleep against the corner of the couch, her free hand twined in his and that soft smile on her face. Most nights he did not sleep, he would lay and watch and stay next to her, marveling at the fact that she stayed, that she cared. Sometimes he would murmur things into her ear, knowing she would not remember them when she woke up. Occasionally it was small details about the students he had seen that day. Other times it was things he had not yet worked up the courage to tell her while she was awake, even after four years.

Tonight was one of those nights, and Sherlock looked up to see a considerable amount of time must have passed, for Molly leaned back against the couch, her eyes closed and her breathing the slow and steady of the sleeping. Her hand was still tangled in his hair, its presence comforting and sweet. His thumb caressed the back of her hand, basking in how near she was, how uninhibited she looked when she was asleep. He was careful not to wake her. "I love you," he murmured in his deep baritone, feeling a peace he had never felt before.

There was a slight shifting underneath him, and she curled closer, causing his heart to beat faster. "I know," she murmured huskily back, leaning down for a kiss.


	2. One Last Look

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Sherlolly. Just prior to jumping, Sherlock realizes just how far people would go for him. Particularly Molly. He goes to Molly in order to hide out (because he's feeling lonely). First kiss?

He stood in the doorway, watching her sleep. She looked innocent like that, stretched out in her bed, covered in soft pink pyjamas, her top hiked up to reveal an expanse of flat, creamy abdomen. Mumbling something in her sleep, Molly turned over, wrapping her arms around a pillow and snuggling into it. He tilted his head to the side, expression unchanging.

Absently he wondered if Molly would awake, if she would see him. He wondered if she would know that this was not the first time he had stood here and watched her sleep. If she knew that Toby the cat knew him on sight, and he often brought him treats. If she knew how much he cared. She couldn’t know. He wouldn’t let her.

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Sherlock stepped forward hesitantly. He did not want to wake her, did not want to stir her from her sound slumber. Her life would be changed significantly tomorrow, and although some might call him heartless, there was a limit to what he would do. Tilting his head to the side, he could not help the affection that flooded his veins at seeing her so unguarded. She looked so sweet, so fragile.

He just hoped she would not break, would understand that he had to do something that may not be for the benefit of everyone. Sherlock had chosen to save the few and to sacrifice himself, to give up his life for a while in order to save those he considered friends. Molly was not on that list, and he prided himself, for that. The goal had been for her to never know of his affection. Once Moriarty had appeared, Sherlock had known where his life would lead, known what his fate was.

Dragging Molly down with him was something he would not tolerate. She turned over, and he flinched, stepping back a bit. Had she heard him? Was she awake? He waited, scarcely breathing, pressing himself farther back into the shadows as he watched her turn back over onto her back. Her shirt was still up around her middle, one arm crossed over her hips and the other off to her side.

His phone went off, one soft, brief vibrate that barely registered. But it was time. It hurt much more than he expected, to take the few steps forward to the edge of her bed. He did not want to leave, did not want to go and leave her behind to face what the world was going to do to her and those she cared for. It was not like he had a choice, but even knowing that, it felt like his heart was being ripped out of his chest and being placed in her hands.

Leaning down, Sherlock pressed the briefest of kisses to her lips, careful to not wake her. He smoothed a lock of hair out of her eyes, kissed her forehead, taking in what she looked like, her features. It could be years, it would be years before he would see her again. One last look, and he turned around and left, his heart shattering into a million little pieces.

Molly watched him leave.


	3. To Show You Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Established Sherlolly. Molly gets pregnant and Sherlock has the symptoms. Commonly known as sympathetic pregnancy or couvade syndrome. Symptoms include: nausea, weight gain, mood swings, and bloating.

Molly sat in Sherlock’s armchair, gratefully accepting the mug of tea from John as the doctor handed it to her. She was about six months into her pregnancy, and it was starting to get more difficult to get in and out of lower chairs like Sherlock’s. She glanced at John, took in the tightened lips and tense jaw, and smiled apologetically. There was a shriek from the kitchen and the sound of shattered glass.

“I don’t know how you haven’t killed him yet,” John said tersely, sinking into his own chair, mug of tea clasped tightly in his hands.

“He’s really not that bad,” Molly answered, not even flinching as more glass shattered. “This is relatively mild.”

“Molly!” Sherlock hollered from the kitchen.

“It’s already in the microwave, love,” she called back, her attention diverted. “Hit the three, then take it out, and come lie down on the sofa for a bit, have a bit of a rest.”

John quirked an eyebrow in her direction, and she took a sip of her mug. “You’re inviting him out here?”

“Back pain.” She exhaled, pleased, and took another drink of the tea. It was hot and perfect and although it was herbal, non-caffeinated, it was enough to warm her belly - what part of it that was hidden underneath the baby inside her, anyway. “We’ve got one of those - plush warmers. You heat it up in the microwave, and then I get him to lay down, put it on his back, and he’ll generally fall asleep.”

“Fall asleep?” John blinked, surprised.

Molly smiled wearily. “Women are more exhausted during their second trimester. I’ve been able to get him to sleep almost every other day this way.”

“Sad to see it hasn’t improved his mood,” John muttered. Molly snorted, and then both were distracted as a shirtless Sherlock entered the living area. He froze upon seeing John, as if he had not expected to see him there, and then immediately turned around and stormed back into the kitchen, bright pink warmer clutched in his hands. John blinked, turning to Molly. “Was he blushing?”

She sighed at that one, a hand on her forehead. “It - you might want to go.”

John drained his mug. “Good luck,” he advised Molly, placing the mug on the coffee table and grabbing his jacket. He ran out the door, nearly tripping over his own feet as he did so. Molly wasn’t completely surprised; Sherlock was difficult to be around at points, the way he was.

It had started so innocently. Sherlock was naturally a bit snarky, but then the mood swings had set in, and his belly had started to bulge, just a bit. It was then that Molly had figured it out, and John not far behind her. Couvade’s syndrome. Sympathetic pregnancy. Sherlock was so invested in Molly’s pregnancy that he was showing symptoms of it himself.

It would have been amusing if it wasn’t so tiring most of the time. She struggled out of the chair as Sherlock poked his head back in. “John’s gone,” Molly told him, a hand on her back and a grimace on her face. Sherlock’s back pain mimicked her own, but she didn’t have a partner that was willing to fuss over her. Not most of the time, anyway. Instead it was the other way around, where she had to look after her partner, and keep the world from killing him.

“You’re tired,” Sherlock said suddenly, his eyes narrowing in Molly’s direction.

She smiled patiently, weary. “I’m six months pregnant, Sherlock. It’s kind of a default.” Emotions flickered across his face, so fast that Molly did not even bother reading them. “Lay down, and I’ll get the heater on your back,” she told him.

Sherlock stepped forward and gently drew Molly towards him, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “Let’s go to bed.”

Molly closed her eyes briefly, trying to rein in her impulse to lash out. “Sherlock, I’m tired,” she explained again. “Let’s get you to sleep, and then I can go get some sleep myself.” Molly wasn’t going to allow herself to be swayed by soft kisses and apologetic looks. She was about asleep on her feet and just wanted to get Sherlock taken care of before she could go to bed.

Sherlock scooped Molly up into his arms, ignoring her protests, and walked into his bedroom, gently laying her down on her back and rolling her into position on her left side, under the duvet. His hands were gentle as he placed a pillow under her belly, and one between her knees, helping to align her spine.

Molly laid quietly as Sherlock crawled into the bed with her, spooning her, pressing gentle kisses to the back of her neck. She could feel her muscles relax, could feel exhaustion surfacing as Sherlock continued his gentle ministrations. It was all she wanted sometimes, what she craved. For Sherlock to show that he actually cared. “Don’t think this is going to get you out of trouble every time,” Molly told him sleepily, fighting to stay awake.

Sherlock’s lips curved into a smile against the back of Molly’s neck, wicked and sweet at the same time. “We’ll see about that.”

Indeed, Molly thought as she fell asleep.


	4. I've Got You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Dark!Sherlock and dark!Molly smut would be excellent. Please?
> 
> tw: bloodplay, knifeplay, breathplay, collars, mild bdsm. Yeah, I went there.

Molly sat back on her heels, pleased. She licked the small blade in her hand, cleaning the blood off of the steel, the copper tang fresh on her tongue. Sherlock was panting underneath her, his chest heaving, and his hands fought uselessly against the leather of the cuffs. “We’re not even close to done, love.” She smiled wickedly, leaning forward to bite messily at his neck, just above the collar, drawing blood. Her tongue swirled around the marks, lapping it up as she hummed delightedly.

“Molly,” Sherlock gasped, flinching underneath her as she cut a messy line just under his pectoral muscle, the thin blade ruthless in its assault.

She tsked and shook her head. “I’ll gag you if I have to.” Trailing the edge of the blade along his jawline, hard enough to sting but not to cut, she followed with her mouth, licking and sucking at the slightly scruffy skin. He was hard against his belly, precome pooling in his bellybutton, and she glanced at his erection without sympathy. She allowed her lips to curve up in a smile, knowing she looked ruthless. Lifting the blade, she sliced another cut, perpendicular to the first, eyes lustful as it oozed blood.

Swiping her tongue over his nipple and feeling him arch into her touch, she sucked briefly on the cut skin, smirking as he groaned. “Sensitive, sensitive.” His breathing was coming in quick gasps now, and he shifted underneath her, trying to get some friction on his aching cock. A harsh cut on his abdomen caused him to jerk, and his breath hissed out, eyes watching her, reverent. “You’re a pain slut, aren’t you?” Molly asked the familiar question, tilting her head to the side. Her hair was down and she leaned forward, allowing just the tips to skim across Sherlock’s hypersensitive flesh. “You like it when I cut you, when I slice that gorgeous skin open, make it bleed…”

“Yes, Mistress,” Sherlock murmured, knowing what Molly wanted him to say. She trailed a finger down the side of his face, pressing into a healing cut from a few days ago and watching him swallow hard. Lifting the knife to Sherlock’s lips, she traced the cupid’s bow with the tip before tilting it to the side, offering it to him. He stuck his tongue out, licking his own blood off the blade before looking expectantly at her. Carefully she sat the knife on the night table next to them. It was time for something else.

“Good boy,” she praised, a hand going to the adjustable collar he wore around his neck. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded, giving his permission. She let go of the collar and used a hand to line his latex-covered cock up with her entrance, carefully sliding down onto him, allowing a faint moan to escape her lips. Gyrating her hips in a circle, Molly shuddered as Sherlock’s cock slid pleasurably against her clitoris. Good.

“Don’t worry,” Molly murmured, her eyes on Sherlock’s face as she carefully tightened the collar. “I’ve got you.” Leaning forward, she watched him intently, stopping as soon as his air was constricted. His breathing was short and quick, then gasps, then stopped, although he continued fighting for air. Molly allowed her hips to move, her forearms propping her torso up, her focus torn between the pleasurable sensations building in her groin and the duty she had to keep an eye on her partner.

Sherlock’s eyes rolled in his head, and his cock throbbed inside her. She could imagine what he was feeling; just a week ago, their positions had been reversed. His vision would be starting to splotch, graying around the edges, and his lungs would burn, desiring air that he would not be able to breathe in. He fought against the restraints, anything and everything in an attempt to draw in air. Then he went limp, giving up, his body quickly running out of oxygen. Molly leaned down and pressed open mouth kisses to his throat, just above the thick black collar.

Her hand was on the release, and she picked up the pace, thrusting down onto his cock harder than she had been. At the same time she released the collar, allowing Sherlock to draw in air. There was a warmth building her body, and she moaned, feeling Sherlock’s body tense, feeling his cock start to throb as he came inside the condom. His breath was escaping him in soft, hoarse little noises, reminiscent of his attempts for breath. With a shudder and a loud whimper she came around him, inner walls squeezing his cock.

It was a few minutes before she regained her strength and she reached up to unlock the leather cuffs that were binding Sherlock’s wrists and ankles to the bed. She carefully pulled off his condom, tying it and tossing it into the bin before curling up against his chest, ignoring the blood drying on his skin. “Anything I need to clean?” Molly asked sleepily, feeling Sherlock’s arm curving around her lower back.

“No,” Sherlock answered, his voice low and hoarse due to the asphyxiation. They cuddled for long minutes, Molly pressing soft, lazy kisses to her lover's chest until she was certain he was comfortable and about as asleep as he was going to get.

“Good.” And with that, Molly was asleep.


	5. Forever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this prompt: Sherlolly prompt: Molly discovering a scar or injury on Sherlock after his return from the fall... (:
> 
> It didn't stick completely to the prompt, and I do apologize for that.

She didn’t believe it, at first. Didn’t believe that it was him, sitting there, on her sofa, alive. Alive and well, albeit thinner. Lanky. Messy. Curls long and falling onto the collar of his coat. She stared, the dish that had been in her hand clattering to the floor. She was lucky, in that it fell on the carpet and bounced, instead of shattering on the floor into a million pieces. “Sherlock?” Molly whispered, the name of a dead man passing her lips far too easily for her comfort. “You need a haircut.”

He chuckled, standing, the familiar coat moving as he did. He came closer, a lopsided half-smile on his face. Reaching down, he picked up the dish, placing it on the counter. He lifted his hands, gently holding Molly’s face between them. Molly inhaled sharply, her eyes wide, her body surging with adrenaline, fight or flight. She hadn’t expected to turn around and see him, hadn’t expected to see the lover she thought was dead, sitting silently in her living room.

Her arms lay limp by her sides, even as Sherlock leaned in, kissing her softly, carefully, as if he expected her to shatter, as if she was fragile as glass. Something breakable, something worth protecting. Molly let out a soft sob and he pulled back, the slightest amount, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, reassuring. She threw her arms around him, buried her head in the crook of his shoulder, tears flowing down her cheeks as she released all the pent-up emotions she had held in the past year, not allowing herself to grieve for what she had lost.

He held her, hand cupping her head, one around her waist, murmuring into her ear. She didn’t know what he said. She didn’t care. He was there. He was alive. That was what mattered. She let the words wash over her, a balm to her fractured soul. Her hands started exploring, feeling, caressing, reassuring her that he was alive, solid and steady, his body against hers. She could feel his heartbeat, feel his racing pulse, feel his body come alive against her, aroused, wanting, needing.

Molly lifted her head, stepping up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips to his in a crushing, bruising kiss. To her it represented everything, her hope and despair, her love, her resentment, how much she had missed him, how much she hated him for being gone. His mouth opened against hers and they moved in an almost-forgotten harmony, tongues dueling and caressing, moving against each other as Molly pressed herself more firmly against the tall, lanky body. Sherlock pulled back to breathe, panting, sharp short bursts of breath. Molly grabbed him, dragged him to the bedroom, threw him down on the bed. Then she was on him.

They collapsed on the bed together, once they were done, naked and sweaty, so closely twined together that Molly did not know where he started and she ended. She liked it that way, the quiet closeness. If she was honest, she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight for a while. Didn’t want to risk him disappearing again, leaving her behind. Never again. He kissed her, softly, sweetly, held her, stroked her hair, and talked.

This time she listened, as he spoke, listened as he told her all about where he had been, what he had done. How he had survived. Why he couldn’t come back. Why he could stay now, but hadn’t been able to just a year ago. She mapped out his skin, asking him about this scar or that. Some she recognised. Some she didn’t. He answered everything, honest and quiet. The stories were fascinating, amazing. His voice was low, comforting, and Molly could feel herself start to drift off. “I should go,” Sherlock murmured, stroking her hair, kissing her lips, lazy and unassuming.

Molly tensed so quickly that Sherlock tugged her even closer, if that was physically possible. She couldn’t lose him, refused to lose him so quickly. She had just gotten him back. “Stay.”

Sherlock nodded slightly, shifting onto his back so Molly could sprawl on top of him, and he tugged the duvet so that it covered both of them. “Forever,” she murmured, half-asleep.

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. He kissed the top of her head, stroked a hand down her back, soothing. “Forever.”


	6. A Christmas Surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based off of this prompt: Sherlolly christmas prompt- Molly and Sherlock are married and Molly's christmas presents to Sherlock are science things and a baby. Merry Christmas! (Pregnancy fic)

Christmas, Sherlock thought with a scowl. How mundane. How traditional. How utterly, boringly ordinary. Yet he suffered, and vaguely willingly, if only to see Molly’s face light up as she unwrapped the charm bracelet he commissioned for her. Made of silver, he had found a jeweler and ordered several charms for it. Most were science equipment, small precious models of that in Bart’s laboratory. But there was one of her cat, Toby, that had passed away a few months ago. Sherlock thought she would like it. It would go well with those silly jumpers she insisted on wearing, even now.

“I have a few things for you, too,” Molly said with a blush, walking over and pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s curls. She stroked them gently, scraping her nails lightly over his scalp out of habit. There was something about his hair that had always fascinated her, and even now, after two years of being married, she still touched him reverently, as if it was a gift bestowed upon her and new each time.

Sherlock didn’t say anything, just watched as she walked over to the tree and picked up a few of the larger parcels. He opened them dutifully, Molly tucked against his side, smiling in satisfaction at the set of beakers and test tubes. What surprised him the most was the pipettes she gifted him. “These will be at the lab only, mind you,” she said sternly, and Sherlock rolled his eyes, although he leaned closer to her, pressed a kiss to her cheek. Her stern tone softened, and there was something warm in her eyes when they met his, something that caused his insides to go all warm and melty.

It was an odd feeling and one he was still not entirely used to, even years later. “There’s one more,” she said hesitantly, standing and walking over to the tree. There was a slim envelope left - Sherlock could tell by the slight dips and indents in the packaging. He tore it open, although his movements were jerky, off. There was a tenseness in Molly’s frame, a slight shake that betrayed her nervousness, and he was almost afraid of what could be in the envelope.

He opened it, pulled out the grainy black-and-white photo inside and frowned. His gaze went from it, back to Molly, and then to the photo again. It was like his mind had stopped. “What is this?” he asked calmly, or as calmly as he could muster.

Molly inhaled sharply, and for a moment, took her hands off of his leg, settling them in her lap. “It’s your baby,” she said quietly. “Our baby. I’m pregnant.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he lifted his head, staring. “No.”

“Yes,” Molly replied, a slight smile on her face. “I’m about 8 weeks, or so. It’s early.”

“But…” Sherlock’s mind stuttered to a halt, and he just stared. I’m not good enough to be a father, he thought. I don’t deserve her, his mind added. You should give up now, let her go, give her the life she deserves without someone like you in it. You’re not even good for her. What good would you do for a child?

“Sherlock,” Molly murmured, something sad in her voice that Sherlock couldn’t place. She straddled his lap, rucked up her shirt, and picked up one of his large hands, placing it against her belly and holding it there with his. “This is our child. Together.” He opened his mouth to protest and she shook her head. Sherlock quieted, watching her - trusting. He had learned a lot of hard lessons during their time together. A lot he had not wanted to learn, including the value of silence. Of a proper silence - one where he listened, and did not simply ignore.

“You’re going to be a good father - an excellent father,” Molly told him quietly, her delicate fingers stroking his hand unconsciously. She lifted one hand to grab his other, holding them both against her stomach. “I know what your mind is telling you, and I know what you’re thinking.” There was something sad in her eyes. “Our baby will be lucky to have you as his Dad.” Sherlock slowly unfurled his fingers, feeling her warm, smooth skin against his palms. A baby, Sherlock thought. He was going to have a baby. Molly was going to have a baby. Their baby.

“Thank you,” he said simply, leaning in to kiss her, slow and sweet. Molly smiled, shy and relieved, before releasing his hands and wrapping her arms about his shoulders. Sherlock held her for a few moments, his mind already racing with everything he would need to do to accommodate this new information. Books needed to be acquired, read. He needed to know everything about what was going to happen so that he could be adequately informed about their new development.

If he had learned anything over the past several years, it was that challenges like this were better faced with two minds instead of one. And it was something he was glad to share.


End file.
